The Roundhouse Tapes

The kings of Swedish prog-metal coronate themselves with a live album.

There are worse yokes to bear than "thinking man's metal." If anything, Sweden's Opeth is surely proud their efforts at combining the intensity of death metal and the pastoral qualities of prog have gone over so well. But "thinking man's metal" or not, it's probably not wise to think too hard about what Opeth is up to. Like 99% of music, close scrutiny reveals the seams, and like too much metal, a close look reveals just how silly the stuff ultimately is. No, better to just give in to the thrill of the playing: the tightrope precision, the velocity, the sheer intensity.

Opeth fans have gotten plenty of opportunities to get used to those qualities on the band's Ghost Reveries. The album, originally released in 2005, was re-released with extra stuff the very next year. And in late 2007, fans got yet another taste of the album with a live disc, The Roundhouse Tapes, recorded back in 2006 on the Ghost Reveries tour.

Yet to the band's credit, The Roundhouse Tapes includes just a single track from Reveries-- the nearly 11-minute "Ghost of Perdition"-- with the rest of the setlist serving as career overview, welcome to new drummer Martin Axenrot, and sendoff for longtime guitarist Peter Lindgren, who left amicably at the end of the epic tour.

It's also a showcase for Opeth leader Mikael Akerfeldt, an odd contradiction in the world of metal who is not only adept at vacillating between gentle crooning and harsh growling but seems to equally appreciate the two singing styles. He also comes across one of the most genteel, soft-spoken frontmen you'll ever encounter, at a metal show or not. He's no Cronos or Paul Stanley, but Akerfeldt's polite introductions are almost worth the price of the double-disc.

"Do you hear that?" he asks before launching into a full-barreled "Ghost of Perdition". "That is the sound of a tuned-down guitar...Please enjoy this one."

"Just listen to the title and enjoy the song," he suggests, like a good sommelier, before leading into the classical guitar stylings of "Under the Weeping Moon", from 1995's Orchid (the concert begins with the strains of Popol Vuh's "Through Pain To Heaven", and a lengthy instrumental passage in the middle of the song nods to those mood-minded German prog pioneers).

"We were quite pretentious in those days," Akerfeldt admits, talking about the band's second record, Morningrise-- the reverie interrupted by him politely telling someone in the crowd to "Shut. The. Fuck. Up."-- "I brought a lute to the recording session, thinking I was going to be a minstrel. It was never used, but this song was recorded nevertheless with the thought of the guitars being lutes."

Usually when a band as technically proficient as Opeth hits the road the idea is to replicate the recorded arrangements as closely as possible, if only to show you've done your homework. But the group's first proper live album pushes boundaries further than that, with few of the minor concessions (if they can be called that) that have made their albums more palatable to the casual listener. No track here runs shorter than eight minutes. Five top 10 minutes. "Blackwater Park" stretches close to the 20-minute mark.

No doubt there are some for whom Opeth's prog side gets in the way, but you've got to love any band so unafraid to embrace its inner nerd. Like pals Porcupine Tree, Opeth seems uninterested in courting any single audience, and knowing that they've done things their way gives the group ample "fuck you, too" fodder. A live release could have been a "fuck you," but in this case-- especially arriving via the band's old, pre-Roadrunner label-- it feels more like a modest thank you the stave off the wait for the next studio record.